Earthstuck
by Shiny Sheimi
Summary: They would be probed, interrogated, cut open for scientific research. You would most likely be held prisoner for the rest of your days. Your lives would all be over, and it would be all your fault for suggesting the visit in the first place.
1. John: Fondly regard life so far

It is approximately 2:45 in the afternoon on Thursday the 11th of April, 2013. Your name is John Egbert, something which perhaps should have had factual priority over the time and date. The time and date is, however, more important than it would have been given a different situation, because right now, you're pondering over the large family calendar on the refrigerator. You take a moment to swell with pride at the fact that said appliance belongs to you now, as does everything else in this new residence. It's all yours.

Alright, you've had your little moment, now it's time to get back to the plot. You're staring at the calendar. You're staring at a particular part of the calendar, where the following Saturday was marked around the edges with bright blue ink in order to signify some sort of importance to that day. You should know; you marked it. That shade of blue isn't the shade of blue you ideally would have picked, but you bought a packet of coloured markers a while ago and once the trolls had all had their pick of the pack (and had bitched vigorously when it was discovered that practically none of the colours were accurate at all to anyone. Apparently trolls have very accurate colour vision) there was very little left for you to choose from. You're pretty happy with light blue, though. It stands out on the pages. You can't tell whether this is because of the colour or just because of how often you write on the calendar, though. You can't say the same about Karkat's angry scrawls. The only possible pen in the pack for him was a disappointingly pale shade of grey that was very easily written over by someone else and made completely redundant, but you thought it was kind of nice when he would steal Dave's red when he wanted to write something of extreme importance.

Oh, yes, of course. I forgot to mention that you're living with the trolls now. In your own house, nonetheless, that you can call yours. You're pretty sure you didn't already mention that. You have another little internal fistpump about it. Enough of that! The trolls live with you now, on Earth. This happens to be relevant to the significance of next Saturday, because next Saturday will mark the third anniversary of the trolls' arrival on Earth. It will also mark the day exactly two years, seven months and twelve days ago, when the trolls were discovered by the authorities, or "Those Probing Fuckasses" as they have since been known, and will mark exactly two months and six days ago that they were released, with some reluctance on TPF's part, from their highly classified location and allowed to live in a specialised residential complex - which TPF had so kindly built for them – with four pink human children named John, Rose, Dave and Jade.

Of course, "children" was now a slightly non applicable term to use as far as you and the other humans are concerned, but the trolls still consider you to be human infants in as much the same way they consider themselves to be troll infants, mostly because their innate cultural instincts tell them that not yet being ten feet tall is an indicator of infancy. You don't mind. You and the others might be almost nineteen years old now (and a lot older than that in reality, what with all the growing up you had to do when the game started), but deep down, you know that you'll always be "the kids". You're happy with that. It reminds you of the old times.

You're pretty happy with how things are overall. Now, at least. The last few years weren't so easy. Karkat was, naturally, the first to arrive, and he spent almost a week hiding out at your house. That week was fun, and at the time, you had thought it the most fun you'd ever had in your life, because Karkat was so _interesting_. He had a perpetually scrunched-up face and bristled whenever he was spoken to; he was everything you expected him to be – if a lot taller than you expected, about on par with you, and you didn't quite reach the average for your age – and you were certain you could never get tired of him. Dave, on the other hand... Well, we won't go into those details.

That week had been great, but the week that followed brought the arrival of Gamzee, eagerly following Karkat through the modified Transportalizer. The first thing you noticed when he appeared was that he was _inhumanly tall_. He had to be nearing seven feet, and his lanky, gangly figure accentuated his height even further. He was all sharp angles and lines; sharp cheekbones, sharp claws and long pointed ears. Frankly, he looked terrifying. You could most easily compare him to the kind of troll you'd expect to find hiding under your bed, peeking at you over the footboard with those glowing yellow-and-indigo eyes (the indigo, you noted, was brighter than Karkat's red, and you later learned that Gamzee couldn't remember when his wriggling day was, and that they had recently estimated that he was almost one sweep ahead of the rest) and grinning menacingly at you with those sharp... Gnashers. Yeah, "gnashers" is definitely the right word, you think, with how jagged and irregular they are, and how he shows them off so readily.

You supposed that you were going to have to get used to the fact that trolls are trolls, aka _alien_, and aren't going to meet human standards of aesthetic appeal. Your human brain, after generations of development and learning from fictional horror, dislikes what it sees. You decided not to judge the troll books by their scary troll covers from that point forward, because Gamzee was just as sweet and laid-back as he had always been, and you soon taught your brain that there was nothing to be afraid of.

That was only the first obstacle, though. Gamzee is friendly, but something that did not come as a surprise was that he is easily distracted. Keeping him indoors and out of sight was an immense challenge. It wasn't that he ignored you – he never hesitated to do as you asked, as long as you asked him directly and clearly. Bless him, he was trying so hard to be a polite guest, in that weird troll way of theirs. But a few times he had been caught daydreaming out of the window in broad daylight, too encapsulated in how different the sky looked than on Alternia to notice the people walking past the house in clear view, local neighbours that were _so close_ to noticing the giant, grey, horned figure standing in the window.

When he stalked from the house to explore the garden one night, spontaneously followed a cat over the fence, landed loudly in the neighbour's garden and thus activated their patio light before proceeding to stand directly under it and stare dumbly at it for half a minute, you started to realise that you had a potentially serious risk on your hands. It got your mind whirring, and the reality began to truly sink in: you were playing host to two-soon-to-be-twelve _aliens_ from _another universe_, and that would, to all extents and purposes, be treated as _First Fucking Contact_ by international authorities should the trolls' existence be revealed. You knew that if they were captured, they would be restrained underground in some thirty-storey military basement at some highly classified location. They would be probed, interrogated, _cut open_ for scientific research. You would most likely be held captive for the rest of your life for keeping this information a secret, along with everybody else that was associated with the game, and all of your lives would essentially be over. And it would be _all your fault_ for suggesting the visit in the first place.

But it's okay. Don't panic, John. Your life isn't over, nor anyone else's. You know that already. We've already established that fact. It's all good. You have a house now, remember?

Yes, you remember now. You remember that the trolls _were_ discovered a few weeks after Gamzee's fence-vaulting incident when the rest of the trolls had arrived, and they were probed to the extent of moderate discomfort for some time, but they weren't put in any serious pain and they weren't dissected. They complained, sure, but things could have been worse. You know that. You also remember that there was an urgent tone in the rare communications you got with the trolls when they were held in, but you weren't made aware as to why until after they were released over two years later, when Sollux was able to inform you that their window of opportunity to return to Alternia that he'd made had long passed. The trolls were stuck on Earth – or, at the very least, stuck in that universe.

You don't really know the full extent of how your troll tenants feel about the way things have turned out, but you wouldn't have had it any other way.

* * *

_A/N (Edit): Wow, I hadn't expected to have so many favouriters and followers! I've counted two favouriters and four followers, which I think is a lot for my first published fan fic, so thank you! Knowing that I have people behind me waiting for my next update is a real encouragement for me and very motivating, so expect an update within the next day or so._

_I'm actually pretty new to the fandom – only got introduced to Homestuck about two months ago, and I haven't finished it yet (obviously) – so please let me know if there are any huge canonical errors. Thanks again!_


	2. Karkat: Play the trollmender

You're in a coccoon. A wonderful, brilliant, cozy coccoon of comfort and solitude. Okay, so maybe not so much comfort. You found that the more you shifted around in an attempt to get more comfortable, the less comfortable your coccoon of solitude became, so after a small amount of wiggling about frustratedly, you decided to stay still and just put up with what you had already managed to achieve. The quilt wrapped around you provided good insulation and it was more than big enough to cover you twice (it was Gamzee's, and thus was twice the height and more than twice the width of your body. You don't even know why he has one of these stupid human fabric bedding items. Oh, but wait, of course you know why: he's Gamzee, that's why, a troll you will never understand no matter how long you remain his moirail) and the heat radiating from your high-temperatured body is all around you, making the air stuffy and your head cloudy, keeping you in a deep, slow-breathing state of drowziness. This is the closest you've come to actually sleeping for a few days, and it feels good. You're not entirely sure just how many days. Gamzee claims it's five, and he nags you regularly to "_take a break and have some motherfucking sleepy time, best friend"_ but you still can't be sure. Sleeping is for wigglers, not to mention you just haven't had the time. Everybody is still settling into the new residence – the new _atrociously designed_ residence that makes you wonder if TPF even took any notes at all during the two-and-a-bit years that they held you captive – and you don't have time for sleep when you're busy using your torso as a shield to block the sparks that are flying between the residents like big, grey, toothy troll rockets.

Inside your coccoon of solitude, though, you don't have to worry about any of that. You don't even have to think about it. It doesn't apply in this world. While you're in your coccoon, somebody else is going to have to deal with all of that bullshit, while you hazily imagine what you would get if you crossed an enormous, fat oinkbeast with a human. The outside world is none of your business. The room could be full of people opening fire and you wouldn't even hear them.

...That is, it isn't any of your business until somebody grabs the corner of your coccoon of solitude and yanks it so hard that not even your fierce clutching power can match up, dissipating all of the wonderful stuffiness you'd managed to develop and exposing you very suddenly to the unfuriatingly cold air of the troll common room. Your coccoon is no longer a coccoon of solitude. It has been deformed and destroyed, and lies on the ground in front of you, unrecognisable as the physical embodiment of peace and privacy it once was.

While the destruction of your beloved coccoon was swift, your return to reality was not. You answer with an uncharacteristic groan as you're blinded by the sudden onslaught of light into your unprepared nocturnal eyes and shield your face with your arms as you try desperately to formulate some sort of witty accusation at whoever it was that dared interrupt your doze. Squinting through the gap in between your arms, the identity of the intruder quickly becomes evident to you when you see the unmistakeable red-and-blue glow of psionically-shielded eyes, and somehow your need to be witty dissipates and you simply lash out. You seriously cannot be bothered to make any genuine attempts on Sollux' self-esteem right now. His furrowed brow, bared teeth and aura of stress and impatience make it pretty damn obvious that words would be lost on him as long as he remains in the state of mind he's in. Your claws do little damage as he quickly dodges the first couple of slashes you throw in his direction and they all but graze the skin of his belly, not even leaving a mark, to your grave disappointment. You growl in frustration and force your eyes to accustom to the light as you stumble to stand, and you do your best to glare daggers at him, hoping that he might give you some explanation as to why he's trying to make your life hell without you having to actually forward him the question, because you sure as hell don't have the patience to explain.

Luckily for you, he responds. "KK, th'top throwing a tantrum and get the fuck up." And, with that remark, he leaves, completely ignoring the steam that you're sure must be shooting out of your ears.

"Why the fuck should I?" You yell at the back of his head as he departs, and something near your feet on the other end of the cushioned seating appliance shifts and mewls in distress at your sudden outburst. You don't want to turn your head to see what it is, nor do you want to take a few seconds to consider that it's probably Nepeta, because your head is now throbbing intensely.

You watch him leave, as if to mentally escourt him out of your sight, and as soon as he's out of eyeshot, you drop your head onto the soft surface of the seating appliance for a few moments and then make to sit up. Through your haze of frustration, you somehow still have the sense to know that there must be some reason why Sollux wants you to get up, and so you figure you probably should get up, if for nothing else then to sate your curiosity. The figure that was previously at your feet shifts some more and makes to sit up next to you, and promptly sprawls all over your shoulder and back, one hand (paw?) on your head.

You tilt your head ever so slightly to the side and look at her lazily through your fingers for a moment. She's staring right back at you, and to your relief, there's a distinct lack of a playful glint to her eyes. Instead, she simply looks content, and you suspect she was napping with you. Her tongue is sticking out just a little bit inbetween the fangs that protrude over her bottom lip, and oh dear god what is wrong with you because you're finding that so fucking endearing.

"I'm gonna go and find out what the hell that two-toned fuckass wants from me," you say relatively calmly, because to your surprise, you don't have it in you right now to snap at Nepeta. "I'll be back soon as long as he hasn't done something illegal and punishable, or something." You hesitate in your speech, because you want to mutter something about how Sollux has probably hacked into Earth's networks and royally fucked the entire political system somehow, and how they're all going to be lined up and shot for it, but your previous vigour is gone. You feel emotionally and physical drained, and for a moment you consider that maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to visit Gamzee pretty soon for a feelings jam and a nap.

As it turns out, Sollux hasn't done something as atrocious as hacking the government network, hasn't done anything wrong, actually, you think. You find that you're pretty glad that he woke you, because all he wants is some help stitching up a gigantic fucking gash running the length of his neck, from his right collarbone to the back of his jaw on the left side, and you're flattered and a little bit touched that it was you he came to first. Your eyes ask, 'Eridan?' and his eyes lethargically answer yes. His blue eye is considerably brighter than his red, you notice, so you figure he must be pretty strained and fed up. You can empathise.

The gash is nasty, and it looks like it hurts, a lot. It's not bleeding much, but it's recent, and it's deep – thank the razor-sharpness of seatroll claws for that; you can tell that if you disturbed the inside of the shimmering mustard line, you'd break the clot and it would quickly start bleeding again. You tell him that you're going to have to clean it, and that it's going to sting quite a bit, and he just shrugs apathetically, so you get to work, all the while planning your confrontation with Eridan, and all the things you're going to have to say to him about why he needs to be more careful, why they can't afford to get a bad reputation right now, why they need to be making a good impression and dispelling the public opinion that you're just a collection of monsters.

He's visibly grateful once you're done cleaning and dressing the wound, thanking you with a small smile at the corner of his mouth, and you try to smile back, but it's difficult and you have little motivation. You decide you can't deal with Eridan's bullshit right now, so you'll have to leave that task for later.

You tell Sollux that he needs to get some rest. He nods, looking like he's about to collapse right where he stands (although you trust him not to), and you head upwards to the humans' floor, thinking that a good few minutes of harrassing the pink fleshy residents of the household will definitely do you good.

* * *

_A/N: Okay, so that took a lot longer than expected. Sorry about that. Just, lots of shit going on right now, got behind on everything, overestimated my abilities to ram through writer's block, you know how it goes. I was winging it this chapter, because as you can probably tell, I have never written Karkat before._

_As for the next chapter, it's definitely on its way, because I had a remarkable and hilarious experience at a restaurant last week, and I decided that the trolls definitely need to go to that place. I'm sure you'll see what I mean. Oh, and just for future reference, this fic is set in my home city of Leicester, in England. My logic is that there's too great a risk of the trolls getting shot in the street in America. My reasoning is that I've only ever been to America once and I wouldn't really know how to write the environment over there, so I'm being lazy, essentially. But it doesn't really matter, because the setting isn't going to be extremely important._

_Feedback is greatly appreciated!_


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